


the girlfriend enigma

by SgtSpill



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: 4+1 things bc i couldn't be bothered to write a fifth lmao, Coming Out, Fluff, M/M, again this is more being outed than coming out, it's just based on stuff that has happened in canon, sorta canon compliant at the time of posting it, this is entirely in shitty's pov, um lardo is there but not very long soooo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-08-07 14:16:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7717933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SgtSpill/pseuds/SgtSpill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four times Shitty thinks he's onto Jack, and one time he actually is.<br/>(basically, shitty tries to figure out who jack's mystery gf is, but <i>joke's on him</i>, it's bitty)</p>
            </blockquote>





	the girlfriend enigma

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to [other jenna](http://gaysun.tumblr.com) again for reading over this for me!! read her fic!!
> 
> the dialogue for the kegster scene and the falcs tv interview is taken directly from the comic, as well as the words on the post-its

Like most important revelations, it hits Shitty when he’s bitch-ass shitfaced. 

He’s at a kegster catching up with the team when Jack quietly slips into their little circle. In classic Jack fashion, he doesn’t really say much, aside from the occasional chirp, but he doesn’t get away with it long before the frog in the group—Tango?—starts grilling him with questions. Honestly, Shitty’s only half-listening, having reached the level of drunk in which he can’t really focus on things like hockey schedules. Instead, he’s watching. It feels nice and familiar, being back with the team at a proper SMH kegster, but it’s pretty cool to look around at the little ways everyone’s changed. He talks to Lardo almost every day, but it’s different when he’s got an arm awkwardly thrown around her shoulder (in part because he needs something to steady himself) and he can see the differences up close, in person. Bitty’s more confident and relaxed now, at ease with the chaos of a kegster. 

_ Jack _ , though. Jack’s the one who’s really different. He seems so  _ happy  _ here, totally comfortable with the third-degree he’s getting from Tango. It’s fucking weird, coming from a dude who doesn’t even like parties. It’s definitely not the grumpy old man persona Shitty’s used to. But Jack has been acting weird for a long time now—suddenly having  _ plans  _ all the time, actually  _ using  _ his phone frequently, and God, all the  _ smiling.  _ Shitty’s known that  _ something  _ is up with him, but he’d never really figured it out. Until now. Looking at Jack’s easy smile and relaxed stance, Shitty just  _ gets it _ : 

Jack’s totally getting laid. 

The realization hits him all at once, and his eyes widen as he watches Jack tell another story about the Falconers. It’s so fucking obvious that Shitty’s honestly pissed at himself for not working it out sooner. The last time Jack had been consistently in good spirits was with Camilla, and even then, it didn’t fully reach this level. He’s not just getting laid; Jack’s _in love_ with this mystery girl. Shitty wants to give Jack the most intense _I’m-so-happy-for-you_ hug of all time, chirp the shit out of him for being so obvious, and yell at him for not immediately telling his best bro. Instead, he stays quiet for a moment longer. 

Finally, when Jack’s getting up to leave, he strikes. 

“All right, everyone. You guys played great. It was fun, but I should out—”

“Hah.  _ Brah _ … Not before you tell us about,”—he pauses for dramatic effect, pulling away from Lardo to point a finger at Jack—“Your girlfriend!”

“Haha, what? Shits, I’m not dating—I don’t have a girlfriend,” Jack says, backing away with an uneasy smile on his face.

“Oh really?!” he asks, moving closer to Jack and waving his hands in exasperation. “What about the  _ texting?  _ And all the  _ smiling?  _ And the ‘Shitty you can’t sleep over on Thursday because I’m having a  _ friend _ over for dinner,’— _ YOU DON’T HAVE ANY OTHER FRIENDS _ .”

Jack looks distraught, and Shitty’s sure he’s about to get a confession, but Lardo puts a hand on his shoulder and says, “Law school happy hours made you weak. You’re sloshed off half a cup of tub juice.” 

That stops Shitty, and he’s silent for a moment as he considers it. As he looks between Lardo and Jack, he’s suddenly overwhelmed with emotions, earlier line of questioning completely forgotten. Holding back tears, he pulls them both into his arms, practically sobbing, “I just really miss you guys.” 

He holds them there as long as he can before they both pull away, and Jack doesn’t linger long before he makes his excuses and starts to leave. Shitty yells his  _ I love you _ after Jack as Bitty walks him to the door of the Haus, and Jack’s shaking his head as he yells back, “Go to sleep, Shits.” 

As Jack pulls Bitty into a hug, Lardo puts herself in front of Shitty with a crooked grin on her face. “Dude,” she says, “you really are completely trashed.”

“I’m not trashed; I’m  _ onto something,  _ Lards,” he protests. At her quirked eyebrow, he sighs and adds, “Okay, maybe I am. But not  _ completely _ .” 

She only snorts at that before linking their arms together and dragging him back to the party.

The next morning, when he wakes up with the hangover to end all hangovers, he admits to himself that, okay, maybe he  _ was _ completely trashed. But that doesn’t make him any less  _ right _ . 

_/ _/ _/

After that night, Shitty keeps a closer eye on Jack, looking for more clues about his mystery girl. Jack gives him almost  _ nothing  _ to work with, though, so he branches out his investigation. He can’t find  _ shit  _ on this girl, but maybe nosy sports journalists who pry for a living can. 

So really, all it takes is a quick google search of “jack zimmermann girlfriend” to find an entire fucking  _ trove  _ of speculation on Jack’s love life. Half of it is just hockey fans arguing about his sexuality because Jack having a girlfriend would “ruin their OTP,” and Shitty’s really not sure if he finds it creepy or hilarious. Regardless, their debates lead him right to the source of the rumor: a video from Jack’s teammate, Tater, that was tweeted by the Falcs official twitter. It’s a really short clip; Jack’s only onscreen for about 30 seconds near the end. He gives all generic PR bullshit answers to Tater’s questions at first, but Tater laughs them off and pushes forward. 

“ _ Lightning questions _ —your girlfriend so good cook, you know,”—Tater pauses, and Shitty leans closer to the screen, eyes wide—“so when I’m coming over, huh? Haha!”

Jack gives an extremely uncomfortable laugh and brushes off the question, and Tater doesn’t push any further before moving onto the next teammate. Shitty’s fucking  _ floored _ , and he doesn’t even think about it before he pulls out his phone and starts texting Jack. 

**Shitty (5:07)** **  
** BRO WHAT THE  FCUK   
I CANT BELIEVE YOU 

**Jack ♥ (5:10)** **  
** ?

**Shitty (5:10)** **  
** U TOLD UR TEAM ABT UR SECRET GF BUT NOT UR BEST FRIEND??????????   
WHAT HTE FUCK    
I NEED DEETS JACK    
D E E T S

**Jack ♥ (5:12)** **  
** What are you even talking about?    
And I already told you that I don’t have a girlfriend 

**Shitty (5:12)** **  
** i saw it bro    
i saw that fuckign falcs tv thing   
u told TATER abt her before me??????????????????????????   
i thought our friendship meant something 

**Jack ♥ (5:13)** **  
** Jesus christ   
Tater doesn’t know what he’s talking about   
It’s all just some stupid assumption

**Shitty (5:13)** **  
** don’t lie to me jack    
don’t u fuckin do it    
u can tell me abt ur gf   
i won’t tell anyone abt her i swear 

**Jack ♥ (5:15)** **  
** Shitty I don’t have a girlfriend

**Shitty (5:15)**   
is she famous   
is that why u don’t want to tell anyone 

**Jack ♥ (5:16)** **  
** I don’t want to tell anyone because she doesn’t exist

**Shitty (5:16)** **  
** oh shit brah    
so she’s famous    
and she’s a good cook    
bro are u dating paula deen    
is tht why u don’t want to tell anyone 

**Jack ♥ (5:17)** **  
** Who the hell is Paula Deen?

**Shitty (5:17)** **  
** jack stop dating her    
she’s racist af 

**Jack ♥ (5:18)** **  
** Shits it is too early for you to be texting me while drunk/high 

**Shitty (5:18)** **  
** the only thing i’m drunk on is the intoxicating feeling of the TRUTH bro   
the truth of ur torrid affair with paula deen 

**Jack ♥ (5:20)** **  
** I’m asking Bittle how to block your number 

**Shitty (5:20)** **  
** aw come on man   
all i want is the deets on my best bro’s gf    
is that too much to fuckin ask

**Jack ♥ (5:21)** **  
** Yes    
Because there are no deets 

**Shitty (5:22)** **  
** i’m gonna tweet paula deen and see what she has to say on the matter 

**Jack ♥ (5:25)** **  
** Have fun with that 

**Shitty (5:25)** **  
** THIS ISNT OVER ZIMMERMANN    
I WILL GET MY DEETS

_/ _/ _/

Shitty drops the subject for a while after that, both to ensure that Jack doesn’t block him and to try to get Jack to let his guard down. Based on his recent behavior, it looks like this girl makes Jack really happy, so Shitty figures it’s safe to play the long game on this one.  

The next time he visits Jack, though, he finds another clue without even trying. 

Shitty is sprawled out on Jack’s ugly green couch (“you  _ do  _ care,” Shitty had said when he first saw it, sniffling and pretending to wipe a tear from his eye), beer in hand as they watch the History Channel and bicker about the historical merit of the documentary that is playing. Shitty’s really just counting down until it ends, because Ancient Aliens is on afterward. As he does every time they do this together, Jack will inevitably start grumbling about how it’s not even  _ real history _ , and why would they play it on the  _ History Channel? _ Honestly, it’s more entertaining than the actual show, especially when Jack chooses to drink, so he slowly gets more passionate and less coherent in his ranting. 

Neither of them are past buzzed yet, so  Shitty stands up as he downs the rest of his beer and gestures to the kitchen. “Hey, I’m gonna grab another beer. Want one?” he asks, and Jack briefly stops glaring at the dramatization on the screen to glance at his mostly empty bottle and give a quick nod. As Shitty walks over to the fridge, a glimpse of color on the back of a chair catches his eye, and he moves to get a closer look after grabbing the beers. 

Shitty’s face breaks into a grin as he realizes what they are: shorts.  _ Tiny  _ shorts. Well, at least he can officially rule out Paula Deen. He carefully pinches the bright red fabric between two fingers with the hand not holding the beer and lifts them up, turning toward the living room. 

“Hey, Jack,” he calls out. “So, uh, you wanna tell me whose these are?”

Jack turns back with a confused expression, but it turns to shock quickly when he notices what Shitty is holding up. “Uh… mine?” he offers with a nervous edge to his voice.

“ _ Brah _ ,” Shitty says flatly, but he’s still grinning. “You and I both know that that glorious ass of yours could never fit into these.” 

“Well, it does,” Jack says, trying to sound all matter-of-factly so Shitty will drop it. 

It doesn’t work. There is no way in hell Shitty is letting  _ this one  _ go. He cocks an eyebrow at Jack and then narrows his eyes. “Really?” he asks, slowly. Jack looks uneasy. “Put them on, then.”

“What? No.”

“Why not? I mean, they  _ are  _ yours.” 

“Shits, I’m nowhere  _ near  _ drunk enough to start stripping for you.” 

Shitty actually snorts at that one, but he doesn’t drop it. Instead, he throws the shorts directly at Jack’s head. “If you can fit into those shorts, I will drop the subject immediately. Since there’s no fucking way you  _ can,  _ I’d suggest giving me deets now.” 

Jack pulls the shorts off his face and glares at Shitty. After considering a moment, he sighs and mumbles something quietly. 

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Shitty asks, leaning forward and cupping a hand around his ear. 

“... They’re not mine,” Jack repeats, just barely loud enough for him to hear. 

At that, Shitty’s smile gets bigger, and he runs and vaults over the back of the couch to land next to Jack. “Dude! Give me the deets on your fuckin’ girlfriend!” 

Jack groans, throwing his head back. “Shits, for the last time, I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Bullshit! You are so obviously getting laid!”

“Nothing here means that I have a girlfriend.”

“Oh my fucking God, man. Are you serious?” 

“Yes.” 

“All I’m asking for are the  _ tiniest  _ of deets.”

“You’re still not getting any.” 

This time, Shitty’s the one who groans, because Jack is fucking relentless with his stonewalling. “ _ Bro _ ,” he pleads one last time, even pouting for the effect. 

“No,” Jack says simply and grabs a beer from Shitty’s hand. Shit, he’d forgotten he even had them, he was so caught up in questioning Jack. “I don’t have a girlfriend. Can we just watch this guy be an idiot on national television now?” 

Shitty sighs and glances at the TV, where the title card for Ancient Aliens is playing. “Ugh, fine,” he relents. “This still isn’t over, though. I’m gonna get those damn deets eventually, one way or another.”

_/ _/ _/

Shitty backs off for a while again. He doesn’t want to fully piss off Jack; then, he’ll never get  _ anything  _ on this girl. Nothing really comes up the next few times they see each other, which kinda really sucks, but it means he’s really not expecting it this time when he finds more evidence on Jack’s mystery girl. 

After setting out two bottles for Jack and himself, Shitty heads to the fridge to put up the rest of the six-pack of beer he brought. He’s not even really paying attention as he shoves the carton onto one of the fridge shelves, instead focusing on his conversation with Jack. When he closes the fridge door though, he notices the array of post-it notes stuck randomly across the door’s surface. He wouldn’t really think anything of it, but they’re just out of place in Jack’s otherwise immaculate kitchen. So he takes a moment to look them over.

“One game at a time! ♥ -B”

“You make me so proud! :) -B”

“You’re so strong! -B”

“Have fun out there! ♥ -B”

“Keep working hard!! -♥, B”

Shitty’s jaw nearly hits the damn floor as he reads them, because Jesus  _ fuck _ , these notes are the most sappy, disgustingly sweet thing he’s ever seen. Apparently Jack notices his silence, because Shitty hears a quiet “Oh,  _ fuck,”  _ and before he can even react, he’s getting roughly shoved away from the fridge. Jack puts himself between Shitty and the fridge and immediately starts tearing down the post-it notes and sticking them together in a messy pile. Shitty just stares at him, a little dazed, and Jack turns back around when he’s finished, the pile of notes shoved into his back pocket. His face is as red as Shitty’s ever seen it, and his words run together as he tries to search for an excuse. 

“Shits-I-swear-I-can-explain-it’s-not-what-it—”

“Jack. Laurent. Zimmermann,” Shitty says with a huge grin on his face. “You sentimental  _ bastard! _ Holy shit! This is the sappiest fucking thing I’ve ever  _ seen;  _ I can’t believe it!” 

Jack opens his mouth to speak, but it seems he really can’t find an excuse this time. His expression can only be described as  _ helpless,  _ and Shitty would almost feel bad for Jack if he weren’t so fucking excited about this development. 

“Bro.  _ Bro _ . There’s no way you can even try to deny it this time. Those are straight up  _ love notes  _ from your mystery girl—or  _ B,  _ I guess I should call her. Please, man, I’m begging you. I need  _ deets. _ ”

Jack looks conflicted for a moment, but he quickly steels his expression (well, as much as a person whose face is flushed red as a fucking tomato can) and starts to speak. 

“Shitty, I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Dude! I just saw your little gallery! You have  _ no  _ fuckin’ leg to stand on here!”

“I don’t have a girlfriend.” 

“Brah. Come on.” 

“Drop it now, Shits.”

_ “Brah.”  _

“I’m totally okay with kicking you out of my apartment.” 

At that, Shitty sighs dramatically, defeated. “Ugh,  _ fine.” _

Jack seems visibly calmer at that, and he grabs his beer and jerks his head in the direction of the living room. “Let’s just go watch the movie now, eh?”

Shitty mumbles an agreement and follows Jack into the living room. Things return to normal pretty quickly after that, but Shitty can’t stop thinking about the fact that the handwriting on those notes looked vaguely familiar. 

_/ _/ _/

This time, Shitty’s completely sober for his important revelation. 

He’s sitting on Jack’s kitchen island (despite Bitty’s protests) watching the two of them work together to make dinner. He’d offered to help, but Bitty just brushed him off, murmuring something about how three’s a crowd. Jack’s telling them about how he single-handedly tore the Falconers in two by introducing the person vs. 1000 roaches in the attic debate, and Shitty and Bitty are both near tears when he describes the full-on brawl between Tater and Snowy. 

After that, their conversation returns to random chirping and catching up with one another, and Shitty is just glad to settle into this pattern again. He’s met a total of 5 people that he doesn’t want to slap on a regular basis at Harvard Law, and even so, none of them  _ fit  _ like this. Jack and Bitty are standing shoulder to shoulder, working easily around each other without even saying anything, and it just sorta  _ works _ . But even as all three of them talk, Bitty and Jack fall into their own rhythm, with Bitty occasionally hip checking Jack after a particularly good chirp. In fact, Shitty almost feels like… a  _ third wheel _ . He pauses mid-sentence as he realizes what’s happening here, notices the  _ tiny red shorts _ Bitty is currently wearing.

“Holy FUCK.”

Shitty’s outburst is met with simultaneous, identical looks of confusion from Jack and Bitty, and he mentally slaps himself. 

“Um, you alright there, Shitty?” asks Bitty, now frowning with concern.  

“ _ No _ , Bits,” he says, shaking his head. “I am everything I hate on this earth.”

“Shits, what are you talking about?” 

“Guys. I’m the heteronormative tool. It was  _ me  _ the whole time. Holy fucking shit,” Shitty replies, cradling his head in his hands and staring down at the tile floor with wide eyes as he tries to process the whole situation. 

“Again, I ask: what are you talking about?” 

_ “You!”  _ Shitty exclaims. “I’m talking about  _ you! _ I can’t believe I missed all the goddamn signs; it was so fucking obvious!”

Jack and Bitty exchange another look of confusion/concern, and Shitty groans because  _ God _ , they’re so obviously in sync, and he’s the biggest idiot on the fucking planet. 

“I mean, I should have known right away after watching that video—a girlfriend who  _ cooks?  _ The tiny shorts? And the  _ B  _ on those fucking  _ sickeningly sweet  _ post-its? The mystery girlfriend is  _ Bitty,  _ and I’m a complete asshole!”

Both Bitty’s and Jack’s eyes widen at the same time, and Bitty’s face flushes as he tries to stammer out a response. 

“W-what? Shitty, that’s—no, I’m not—we’re not—”

“Oh my God, don’t even fuckin’  _ try _ , you guys. You two are totally boning and also probably completely in love with each other.”

Bitty and Jack are just looking at each other, at a loss for what to do. Shitty ignores them entirely and pushes on, his hands gesturing wildly and his words almost running together. “Jesus Christ, I don’t even know where to  _ start _ . I have so many questions—when did this happen? Who initiated things? Is this  _ official?  _ Are you two exclusive?—No judgment here if not—Who knows about you two? And holy shit, how did I  _ not know  _ you aren’t straight, Jack? I’m having a full on personal crisis here; I mean,  _ fuck!  _ It’s not every day that you find out that two of your closest friends have been fucking for  _ months,  _ at least. Oh my God, can I tell Lards? I don’t want to out you guys or anything; that is really fuckin’ not cool, but oh my God, I gotta—I gotta talk to her. I mean—” 

Bitty places a hand on Shitty’s shoulder, looking overwhelmed by his flood of questions, and he cuts off and stills his hands, looking at the two of them standing next to one another. Now that he knows, he can see that they just  _ make sense.  _ The feeling of “I’m a blind idiot” surges up again all at once.

“Shitty,  _ calm down.  _ We’ll answer your questions,” Bitty says, and pauses a moment before adding, “As long as it doesn’t take all night. I love you, but I’m not about to walk you through every detail of our relationship for 6 hours.” 

Shitty doesn’t respond directly; instead, he says “I’m just so  _ happy  _ for you guys,” and pulls them both into a crushing hug. 

“Oh God, Shits, don’t cry,” says Jack, noticing the way Shitty’s shoulders are shaking. 

“There’s nothing wrong with a man showing emotion, Jack. I don’t have time for your bullshit preconceived notions of masculinity; we’re having a  _ moment  _ here,” Shitty replies, voice thick. Bitty’s laugh at that is muffled against his chest, and Jack’s amused huff doesn’t go unnoticed. Shitty turns his face so he’s speaking directly into Jack’s ear when he says, “I told you I’d get the fuckin’ deets, man.” He can’t see Jack’s face, but he can almost  _ feel  _ the eye roll it earns him. 

As Bitty starts to squirm, asking him politely to let them go, Shitty gives a wistful sigh and pulls them in for one last squeeze before he releases them. 

“Lord, I think you just bruised my ribs,” Bitty huffs, punctuating it with a slap on Shitty’s arm. 

“Not my fault. That’s the power of love, brah,” Shitty says with a smile and raises his hands dismissively. 

Jack snorts, “You’re an idiot, Shits,” and rams his shoulder into Shitty, effectively knocking him off the counter and onto his ass. He’s grinning when he offers Shitty his hand to help him back up though, and Shitty can see that he is noticeably more relaxed now. And his face has now returned to a skin tone that can be considered human. 

Shitty accepts Jack’s help and makes a point of brushing himself off once he’s back on his feet. “So back to the matter at hand here… we can finally get started on those deets now, right?” 

Bitty scoffs and jabs his thumb over his shoulder, toward the stove. “You realize we haven’t even finished cooking yet, right?” 

“So?” 

“ _ So,  _ I think this can wait until dinner,” he says simply. 

“What? No! Bits, I know for a goddamn _fact_ that you are extremely capable of talking while you cook,” Shitty protests. 

“No, I think Bitty’s right,” Jack chimes in. Both of them are wearing matching smug grins, and it’s both endearing and infuriating, and Shitty kinda wants to slap them. “Cooking takes a lot of focus, Shits.” 

“Guys, please. I’m dying here. I’ve waited  _ months  _ for these fuckin’ deets; throw me a damn bone.” 

Jack and Bitty have already turned back to the stove, and they’re talking to each other about the food—“Dang, we let this simmer too long because of the distraction; it’s gonna be watery now”; “I’m sure it’ll be fine, Bits. Everything you cook turns out good,”—like Shitty’s not even standing behind them, dying. He hops up on the counter next to them, and neither even glance in his fucking direction.

It continues like this for a while, Shitty trying his best to get their attention while they ignore his entire existence. It’s not until the food has been plated and set out on the table that Jack looks over at Shitty and finally says, “Okay, so…  _ deets _ .” 

Shitty would laugh at how fucking  _ weird  _ the word deets sounds coming out of Jack Zimmermann’s mouth, but he’s too busy sorting through the million questions in his head and smiling so hard his cheeks hurt. After a moment, he exhales and puts on his game face. 

“Let’s start with the basics: fucking  _ when?” _  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!!! please leave kudos if you liked it! i'll probably cry if you leave a comment!
> 
> follow me on [tumblr](http://jackzimmerrmann.tumblr.com) for more soft gay hockey™


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